The Pack Survives
by ShinyRedPenny
Summary: A one-shot of my own take on the conversation between the Stark sisters in 7x07


**I love Sansa and Arya's relationship, but I feel like the show didn't do the best job showing their reconciliation. I've been wanting to write just a slightly different interaction between them for a bit and so here we are! Hope you enjoy!**

Sansa stood on the wall, looking out over the field of white and grey. After so long in the garish and vivid south, the monochromatic veneer of the north was a welcome comfort. She could understand why her father stood in this exact spot after trying days bearing the weight of power that had rested on his shoulders. That now rested on hers. Especially now, after such a devastatingly tempestuous decision, she felt the draw of the quiet, unyielding cold. And the north did not disappoint as she stood on the wall and shivered despite the black and grey furs wrapped around her body. The north never disappointed.

She stiffened slightly as crunching footsteps sounded behind her. Her shoulders relaxed only slightly when she heard how soft they were. Any one else would have made twice the noise. But she also knew her sister only made the noise she did to alert Sansa to her presence. Arya Stark could have approached silently if she had wished. Could have slipped that valeryian steel dagger across Sansa's throat just as she had to Petyr's before any could be the wiser if she wanted. But she didn't. She purposefully broke the snow accumulating on the path to let Sansa know she was not alone. So as not to frighten her.

Sansa still did not know for certain what was going on in her little sister's dangerous mind, but she had to trust her. So she turned to meet Arya's grey gaze.

Sansa was grateful that Arya was not smiling at her, for she did not think she could find it within herself to find pleasure in what they had done this afternoon. She had spoken true in the great hall, it wasn't about what she wanted, but rather what was necessary. And the grimness in her sister's expression was surely a mirror of her own. If anything, Sansa could almost see sympathy mixed in Arya's expression. Not pity-which surprised her-but sympathy. She felt a breath of air release from her lungs in a sigh as she turned back to the wall of white before them.

"In his own horrible way, I believe he loved me," she murmured quietly. Petyr had done terrible things, but she couldn't find hate in her heart for him. Tears pricked at her eyes, though she refused to let them fall. Earlier today she had stood in this exact spot, looking out over the ice, and had prayed for guidance. Petyr had taught her so much. Had guided her through a world that her true father had not prepared her for. And that was something she had not taken lightly. He had shown her the true nature of people, yes, but he had done something that no one else had. Ned Stark...Jon Snow...even Sandor Clegane had all sworn to protect her. But Petyr had taught her how to protect herself. Perhaps he would not have been such a dedicated teacher if he had known that she would have recognized him as an enemy in the end. Still...for him to hurt her was one thing. For him to target her family was another. She had allowed her heart to grow cold as the snows and had done what was necessary.

"You did the right thing." Arya stated-so matter of factly. Sansa couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. Her sister was so like their father. Everything was black or white to them. But Sansa had always lived in a world of varying shades of grey. It had her smile dying. Besides, it wasn't her who had the strength to see it done.

"You did it." She protested, wishing she had half the strength her sister did. No one would need to protect Arya Stark. Her sister was a wolf.

Arya just furrowed her brow. "I was just the executioner. You passed the sentence." She turned her face to meet her eyes and Sansa could see the sincerity in them. But Sansa still felt bitterness fill her.

"'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.' That's what father always said," She all but whispered. She knew Ned Stark had loved her, but it had always been Arya who had been his darling. Arya that he had been proud of. Even in this, it was Arya that had done the honorable thing and had proved herself as Eddard's true daughter. Would Sansa ever be able to shake the masks off? Would she ever be able to stop playing the game? Would she ever be able to prove to them all that she was a true Northerner?

Now Arya just scoffed.

"You're a proper lady, Sansa. And a proper lady should not act exactly as a proper lord should. Mother and Father never raised you to be that. They raised you to be _this._ And they would be proud of you."

Sansa pondered over her sister's words for a moment, feeling some of her resentfulness leave her. But still... "You're strong enough though. To be both."

Arya's laughter rang out in the silence and though Sansa bristled that Arya would react so to her embittered words, she had to admit it broke her from her self pity. "I'm no lady, sister. I was _never_ going to be as good a lady as you." Arya admitted, and she could hear no lie or anger in Arya's tone. "So I had to be something else. I never could have survived what you survived."

Sansa smiled again at Arya's description. No, her sister was not the prim and proper lady that their mother had tried to shape her into. But she transcended that now. She was strong in a way Sansa would never be."You would have. You're the strongest person I know. You survived odds I cannot even imagine."

Arya chuckled again before shaking her head and meeting Sansa's eyes levelly. Steel grey met river blue. "I wouldn't have survived a day, Sansa. Think-would Joffrey or Cersei have tolerated me? I would have been executed within hours. But you lasted. You did what you had to do to. I'd take the threat of the open road any day over that snake pit, but _you_ survived. There are different kinds of strength, Sansa."

Sansa stared at her sister, her mouth hanging slack. She didn't think she'd ever heard her sister say such things to her. She snapped her jaw shut and returned her gaze to the snow, hoping her sister did not see the tears trailing down her cheeks. She was grateful that Arya did not mention them as she subtly brushed them away with her glove before they froze on her skin.

"I believe that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She managed and Arya uncharacteristically giggled.

"Well... don't get used to it." Arya responded with a wicked grin. For half a second, Sansa's tears were for the both of them. Having the shelter they had grown up under demolished over night. Having to grow up and fight battles they should not have had to at such a young age. Having to survive on their own. Now that they were together again, Sansa would not let anything separate them. Not Petyr Baelish. Not Cersei Lannister. Not Daenerys Targaryen. Not even the differences between them. No one would come between the Wolves of Winterfell. Arya must have been thinking along the same lines, for when she spoke again, sadness, but determination was laced in her tone. "In winter we must protect ourselves. Look after one another."

Sansa smiled, recognizing the phrase that had so often been repeated as they were children. "'When the snows fall, and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.'" She quoted and the ghost of Eddard Stark hovered between them. "I miss him." she whispered.

"I do too."

Despite the mountain between them, they were sisters. They were a pack. And neither of them would ever truly be alone in this world again.


End file.
